Magic and Dreams and Good Madness
by aubrey1
Summary: I don't believe in fate. Sounds like the easy way out, if you ask me. Life is a series of coincidences tweaked by happenstance and bent by chance. And then you add that pesky little variable of free will into the mix, and you get the insanity that we call life.
1. Chapter 1

It all could have been avoided if I'd just turned the git down. Or if I'd had something better to do on New Year's Eve. Or if I'd gone into hiding with my family like Christian. Or a million other alternate realities, I suppose. I'm not complaining; not really. It hardly matters anyway, because as it was, the small part I played in the fight for the soul of the wizarding world began when I was 19 and on a date.

A first date to be exact, and yes, on New Year's Eve. In general, I wouldn't have risked the greatest party night of the year with a stranger, but I was up against a wall. At the time, all of my friends ranged in relationship status from obnoxiously in love and unopposed to showing it, to shacked-up, married, and popping out spawn. Being Mommy and Daddy, or even Wife and Husband before seeing 20 candles on your cake sounds shocking now, but war has a way of speeding everything up.

When Maria and her fiance invited me to their party, I had no problem with the idea of going stag. At least not in the literal sense. It was everyone else's reactions that I dreaded, and Maria's reassurances were not reassuring. "It'll be a big shindig," she told me. "Lots of Jason's single friends that I've been dying to set you up with."

Ignoring the notion that anyone who uses the word 'shindig' probably has no business throwing one, I plastered a maniacal smile on my face and assured her I wouldn't miss it. I tried not to think about being paraded around like a show dog to all the brainless lout-types with which Jason seemed to enjoy associating, (being one himself.)

I suppose I can't really blame myself then, when I jumped at the chance to bring my own date, unknown stranger though he was. Although, looking back, he shared some unmistakable similarities with the aforementioned tossers I was trying to avoid. Hindsight and all that. I claim temporary insanity/blindness/desperation.

He was a big man, towering over me and me no petite flower. And he was attractive in the generic way that meant you'd likely forget his face as soon as he was out of your line of vision. Ted was his name, he told me in an overly-confident, _let's-do-this-thang_ tone of voice as I sipped my caffe americano to have something to do with my hands.

"...and I know it's New Year's Eve and you probably have plans…"

Maybe it was the way his voice dipped toward self-consciousness at the end, as if perhaps he weren't quite as obnoxious as he was letting on. Am I grasping at straws here? Nevermind. It doesn't matter the reason because the next words out of my mouth were, "I do. Have plans, that is. But not a date. You interested?" The words were out of my mouth before I could think about it, and briefly I wondered if there were some way to shove them back in. (Why isn't there a spell for that yet?) But the shocked and self-satisfied expression on his face told me I had, in fact, spoken English, and that he hadn't gone temporarily and conveniently deaf. He reassured me in a way that somehow made it sound like he was doing me a favor-which I suppose he was-that he'd love to be my escort.

I regretted my hasty invitation instantly, and must have glanced at his card, ("Ted Michaelson of Gubler, Gardner, and Belz Law Firm. We get you PAID!") a hundred times trying to devise a worthwhile excuse to bow out; that was until I talked with Maria and mentioned that I'd be bringing company that night.

"Oh no, really?" she said, her face contorting into a ridiculous hangdog expression. "But Nelson has been asking about you for weeks. You remember Jason's friend? You met him at the bar last month. I thought it could be kind of a double-date thing."

Deciding not to point out that both parties need to be aware of and _agree_ to a date for it to be considered a date, I consoled her while describing Ted's, (Tim's? Tom's? Taco's?) wonderful attributes. ("He has such nice teeth!" and "I've always liked blondes." Though I couldn't remember if he was actually blonde or not.)

I was feeling less than enthusiastic about the whole mess, but at least it was a chance to break in a dress that I had no other occasion to wear, dance with my friends, and possibly drink enough to find Mr. Ambulance Chaser interesting. Doubtful, but maybe I could get a nice, sweaty romp out of it, the kind of which I was sorely needing. I hated to think how long it'd been since I'd gotten laid, (Francis Finnster; 8 months, 1 week, 2 days. Right before he broke up with me via a note tacked to my apartment door.)

So, with that less than encouraging thought on my mind, (what if they've changed it? 8 months is a long time!) I stepped out into the chill of London-in-wintertime, and pointed my stilettos toward the nearby coffeehouse of our first meeting where we'd agreed to rendezvous.

On the way over, I gave myself a peptalk. I'd been wrong about Ted, obviously. We'd have a great time. Not only was he not the enormous douche-monster I'd originally taken him for, he was actually quite charming. Funny, smart, kind, and probably really great in bed.

"DAMN, you look fine."

Or not.

He grasped my hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it as I felt my eyes glaze over and my teeth grind together ever so gently.

Ted was, as far as I knew, a muggle, and unaware of the secret magical world of which I was a card-carrying member, (we don't carry cards,) so we took the tube to Maria and Jason's apartment. The hosts were both from magical families, but Jason had grown up in a predominantly non-magical neighborhood and had many muggle friends. Rule #1 of the party was no magic talk, so I wasn't overly concerned with Ted overhearing something he shouldn't. As we walked in, I had a brief respite from my date's droning, ("...youngest ever to win such a high priority case…." "...big, fat raise…") when Maria caught sight of me and pulled me to the side after introducing herself.

"Not exactly your type, is he?" she asked, eyeing Ted's back skeptically while he chatted up a new conversational conquest, a slightly alarmed-looking red-headed man who kept throwing furtive glances around the room and finally mumbling an excuse before barely restraining himself to a walk as he escaped.

"How do you mean?" I asked.

She didn't take her eyes off the man in question, but raised an eyebrow at my feigned innocence. "He's quite a bit older than us, isn't he? And did he say he's a lawyer? I don't know, Shan, seems a bit of a pompous-ass."

"He's successful, sure," I said, having no idea why I was defending him as I'd already cooked up 8 different schemes to make a getaway similar to ginger's. "And he's only 27."

Maria pursed her lips and was about to comment further when Ted made a terrifyingly abrupt reappearance at my shoulder.

"Here's a drink, babe," he said, holding up a cup filled with ominously purple liquid. "I made something special for you." He leered between Maria and me until I took a first coughing swallow.

"Good, huh?" he asked, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet a bit.

"Brilliant," I managed to respond while trying to stop my eyes watering.

"Erm, I have to go," Maria said uncertainly, gesturing to several new couples who had just walked in. "But it was nice meeting you, Ted. Oh Shannon, there are a few here from school. I'm sure you'll find each other."

* * *

The night would end in death.

I knew it with certainty. I would rain fiery pain down on everyone at that god-forsaken party until nothing was left but ash and rubble. They would talk about that night in hushed, terrified whispers for years to come. Little children would sit at campfires, staring in awe at the bravest of their friends who would dare to recount the tale of New Year's Eve, 1979, when Shannon Duffy, insane with rage and boredom, turned her friend's lovely party into a hideous bloodbath, the likes of which London, nay, the world had never seen before nor would again.

Because within one hour, I made the horrifying discovery that Ted Michaelson was the single most awful thing to ever happen to the human race. Not only was he not charming, not interesting, not funny, and not nice, he was also completely not aware that I actively wished him dead and was doing everything in my power to escape him. The man was a leech bent on sucking the life from me in a neverending, monotonous drone of unimpressive accomplishments and uninteresting anecdotes. My only breaks came when he'd notice my empty cup and scamper off to replenish it. New drink, (comprised mostly of starter fluid judging by the taste,) would go promptly down the toilet the moment I had a chance. In principle, I've always stood firmly against the waste of alcohol, but allowances have to be made.

Others seemed to be having a wonderful time, although I could hardly remember what that meant anymore. I could no longer remember my life before Ted had glommed onto me and I doubted the possibility that I'd ever be free of him. I'd go through the rest of my life; meetings at work, push-ups at the gym, watching the telly at home, dinner out with friends, all with Ted at my shoulder murmuring an eternal hum of dullness.

But yes, I was semi-conscious that the people around me seemed to be enjoying themselves, and if Ted hadn't sapped me of the ability to feel anything, I would have envied them. A group in the living room in particular seemed to be especially raucous. My face was propped on my fist, knuckles pushing my cheek up until I couldn't see out of my left eye, but I dimly became aware that I'd been staring unseeingly in their direction for quite some time. Excited muttering and laughter was punctuated by tremendous applause and cheers.

Without consciously deciding to, I stood abruptly and walked away without realizing that I should probably make some excuse for cruelly inflicting Ted's own company upon himself. "I'll just go fetch you another drink, shall I?" he called after me.

A particularly loud round of cheers and whoops greeted me as I approached the circle and I vaguely began to remember that this was what fun looked like. Slithering between strangers when I could and elbowing others out of the way when I couldn't, I eventually made my way to the front of the crowd. The scene that greeted me took a moment to digest in my brain.

A tall, dark-haired man was standing, legs spread wide and flourishing a dull-looking hand saw in a dramatic and decidedly dangerous manner. In front of him was Maria's coffee table, obscured by a red-headed woman lying horizontally inside of a large cardboard mailing box. Her head and feet poked out of both ends and she looked distinctly irritated.

"...can't believe I agreed to this," she muttered under her breath. And more loudly, "This is incredibly sexist, James. Why is it always the woman who's sawed in half?"

"Lily, darling, it's not like that at all!" he said and patted her cheek. "Now be a lamb and hush up while I perform wonders never seen before! Only kidding dear, only kidding!"

Avoiding her attempts to kick his shins, he gave the saw a few more alarming waves in which I was sure he'd fling it through the nearby window or on top of the head's of one of his enthralled fans. Instead he brought it straight down on to the box's-and thus Lily's-middle and began hacking back and forth. The sound of cutting cardboard alarmed many of the audience members, but Lily stared up at the ceiling with weary annoyance and said nothing more as James continued to saw down through where her belly ought to have been until he reached the surface of the coffee table.

He looked up at his audience, who seemed to be holding their breath as one, and grinned devilishly, before pushing Lily's two halves apart from each other.

"TADA!" he bellowed to enormous applause and an indecent amount of vocal adulation. I clapped along with them but stood fast as he shooed the others away, claiming he had to 'clean up' his wife.

"Duffy," he greeted me pleasantly while sliding Lily's pieces back toward each other across the table. "How are you?"

"Isn't this the most embarrassing thing you've ever seen?" Lily cut in before I could answer. "He insists we do this at every damn party if any muggles are around. I've been telling him it's grounds for divorce, no question."

"Afraid she has a point there, Potter," I agreed sympathetically, although I couldn't help grinning. "You should be ashamed of yourself."

"Come on, it's all in fun," he said as he glanced around before surreptitiously drawing his wand and muttering the countercharm. Lily sprang up intact, tearing the box open, and punched him hard in the arm.

"Never again, James Potter," she said in a low, and frankly terrifying growl, planting a long finger 2 centimeters from his nose. "Never. Again."

He quailed before her, nodding, rubbing his arm, and saying nothing. But when she'd gone to retrieve a drink he turned back to me with a smile. "She says that every time, but she always comes round. Right, Pads?" The last was directed over my shoulder and I turned to find Sirius Black with a lopsided grin on his face. It slid off presently though and he turned serious as he considered his friend.

"Don't know, Prongs. She looked pretty ruffled about this one." He took a long swallow of an amber-colored liquid. "Could find yourself being served papers tomorrow."

"Nah," James dismissed him with a wave of his hand and repeated, almost to himself, "She always comes round." But then he was silent, staring at the kitchen door through which his wife had departed.

"Oi, Lily? You're not really mad, are you?" he called, his voice disappearing along with himself through the door.

I laughed and turned to face the newcomer, though my eyes lingered on the door a bit longer. "Didn't know they'd gotten married already."

He nodded, taking another drink. He looked steady, eyes not glazed nor bleary, but he was sure going through his drink with a purpose. "Last month. At her parents' house. Great do, why didn't you come?"

I looked at him with confusion. Although we'd all been in the same year at Hogwarts, I'd rarely interacted with Lily Evans or any of the self-styled Marauders outside of class. We were friendly, but certainly not friends.

"Not invited."

If he was embarrassed at his faux pas, he hid it, merely nodding and turning to look me full in the face for the first time.

"Your date looks the entertaining sort."

I narrowed my eyes at him, and my lip curled up just the slightest bit. My gaze slid over his shoulder to where I could see that Ted was, shockingly, prattling on to some unsuspecting guest who was nodding her head politely. I wondered if she already felt the pieces of her soul starting to turn black and die away. Above the pleasant hum of conversations, I heard him tell her, "Yes, I'm here with someone. Tall girl, dark hair. Don't know where she got off to." And he started searching the crowd for me.

"Shit," I said, ducking down behind Black's silhouette. "Shit, shit shitshitshitshitshit!" He looked down at me with ill-disguised amusement.

"Not very polite," he said. "He's probably a lovely bloke. Come on, we'll just call him over." And, raising his voice at the end, he actually turned to sign my death warrant. I grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him roughly to the nearest hallway.

"Are you crazy?!" I hissed, peeking my head around the corner and whipping it back in an impressively accurate Ethan Hunt impression, (if I do say so myself.) Ted had not noticed us, but he was now on a mission to find me and regale me with the tale of how his last girlfriend chewed her own foot off to get away from him. Or something.

"Where the hell did you find this guy?" Black asked, sticking his own head out to assess the situation and not being nearly covert enough about it if you asked me. Ted was now cornering every person in the living room in turn and asking my whereabouts, to be given vague answers and hand gestures in return. But he was drawing steadily closer.

"Oh god, oh shit," I said, clutching the sides of my head and pulling down in what I'm sure was a grotesque face of horror. "I can't spend another minute with him, Black, I can't! He's a social vacuum! He'll sucks the life out of me, you have no idea! I can't listen to that nasal drone for one more second, I just fucking can't!"

"Alright, alright," he said, taking hold of my upper arms. "Deep breath," and he took one himself to show me how it was done. "You're really going to owe me. Remember, I'm saving your life." He turned me toward the bedrooms that I knew were down the hallway in which we'd been hiding and gave me a shove between the shoulder blades. When I got my bearings enough to be offended and I'd turned around, he'd already disappeared around the corner back to the living room.

I ignored his rather cryptic actions and tiptoed silently back the way he'd gone. I heard his voice much too close to me.

"Yes, she's horribly ill. Spewing all over herself, probably drank too much. Poor girl, it was coming out both ends, actually." I made a fist and promised to kill Sirius Black the first chance I got. "She asked me to tell you that she had to run for home. Didn't want you to see her in that state."

After some mumble-mumbles from Ted and a sincere sounding apology from Black, their voices became more and more distant until I couldn't hear them at all over the din of the party. I waited several more minutes, not daring to hope that I'd escaped Ted's presence without causing or sustaining permanent damage.

Black's face appeared suddenly around the corner, covered in a wide, self-satisfied smirk. "You're welcome."

Forgetting my flinch at his unexpected reappearance, my eyes widened at the tantalizing hope that I might be able to enjoy the rest of the evening. "He's gone?" I whispered reverently.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets and saying nothing, Black merely nodded smugly.

"WAHOOOOO!" I yelled at full volume, startling him and effectively paying him back. "YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSS!" And I pelted out of the hallway and back into the living room, hugging the first person I came across who was, incidentally, a stranger and a muggle to boot. He seemed quite scandalized, but I turned to his friend and grabbed him by the shoulders, gazing fondly into his unfamiliar face for a moment before hugging him to me tightly as well. We had weathered the catastrophe together and we were now more than just survivors; adversity had made us friends.

"Shannon?" Lily approached me warily. "Are you alright?"

"Oh, Lily," I said tearily. I walked over to her and laid my forehead on her shoulder and my arms around her middle. "It's over. Oh thank Merlin, it's over. We made it."

She patted my back awkwardly and I felt her shrug at someone to my left. I turned to see Black leaning against the wall and looking amused, if a little bewildered. "Was he really that bad?"

I didn't answer, but released Lily and let me head drop back. "Blessed freedom," I said, sucking in a deep, cleansing breath.

When I looked back up, Lily was regarding me with a wide, amused grin. "How about a drink, eh?" I grabbed her face and kissed her full on the mouth.


	2. Chapter 2

My job wasn't especially glamorous. No corner office on the 47th floor for me, no lackeys tripping over themselves to butter my morning muffin, (even in a non-sexual way.) Nor was it something that I particularly enjoyed, although that probably goes without saying as I assume no one really enjoys accounting work. But as the old and depressingly apathetic saying goes, it paid the bills, and the schedule was uncommonly flexible especially for financial work, mostly I think due to the fact that my employer was rarely there himself, busy as he was with the ponies and an endless parade of blondes. As long as my work was finished, it mattered little what hours I chose to spend in the office.

"Shannon," Mrs. Cleary called on Friday from the adjoining cubicle, craning her neck so that her eyes just barely appeared over the partition to zero in on me. "Have you finished the audit for last month yet?"

I linked my fingers and stretched my hands over my hand, leaning back in my chair before answering. "Yes," I said with a groan. I'd been sitting at my desk for so long I was now wondering how I'd manage living out the rest of my days with my office chair fused to my ass. "Sent the results to Simon last night."

"So I'll expect to see them in a fortnight then, lovely," she responded with a nicely exaggerated roll of her eyes. "Any plans for the weekend?"

"Nothing exciting, no."

She pushed her chair round the corner to see me properly, giving me a pleading and what was probably intended as a playfully saucy look that instead came off as slightly maniacal.

"Come on, darling, give me something! You know this old married bint loves living vicariously through you. No date with some handsome, strapping young man? No new neighbor whose pipes just so happen to burst while he's taking a shower so that he has to run starkers down the hall to you for assistance?" Her eyes focused on something far away that only she could see and I watched in amusement until her attention slowly returned to me.

Though she was only 42, Mrs. Cleary had crammed enough romance novels into her brain to last the rest of her life. She was also under the (magically assisted) impression that I was 25, so her interest in my sex life wasn't quite as inappropriate as it might have been had she known my true age. And I did so love to wind her up. At this point the woman must have surely thought that I was a one-woman orgy…err, not that that's technically possible but you get the point. Unfortunately, most of my bawdiest (and best) tales came out of my own bizarre and decidedly indecent mind.

"Well, I've not had a night out since my New Year's Eve disaster," I said, standing to stretch my back more effectively. "And this weekend I've a friend staying with me who's rather the prudish type, so I doubt there'll be shenanigans in any form till she's gone."

"What about that bloke who saved you on New Year's, eh?" she quipped for only the 59th time that week. She seemed to have built up a white knight type of backstory for Black and was relishing in expanding it however her own hormone-riddled mind saw fit. Really we're all teenagers at heart, aren't we? "He certainly does sound dishy. What does he do?"

"Cop," I supplied automatically. It was the closest thing to his actual job that I could offer.

"And a uniform as well…" she sighed and lapsed into silence, no doubt diving headfirst (ha!) into a daydream involving a 6'10", ruggedly handsome, impressively built, and impossibly well-endowed Sirius Black, though she had only my rough physical description of him to go by.

I turned back to the paperwork in front of me with a grin, but today I had little extra time for chitchat. There was no friend visiting as I'd claimed, and come to think of it I couldn't name any friends of mine who'd be considered the 'prudish type' so it wouldn't have mattered anyway. In fact they all commiserated quite sincerely with my current nun-like state, (9 months, 1 day,) and would have been quite happy to help remedy the situation by tarting me up and prancing out to visit the local college dude haunts.

No, instead my valuable time and attention for the weekend would be focused solely on my first patrol, where I'd be helping to guard the home of a Ministry official who, with an underwhelming blood status or professional clout, had stuck her neck out a little too far in denouncing her own employer's lack of response to Death Eater activity, particularly in the protection of Muggleborns. She'd caused enough trouble to warrant worry over possible targeting from the evildoing scummy lot, but the Ministry, kindly sort that they were, had declined to provide official protection. Thus our fearless and bearded leader had stepped in to offer what meager resources the Order had.

"Yes, well," I said, bringing myself back to the present. "Not that he did much saving, mind. He basically described my explosive shitting/upchucking status and that was that. And anyway, I haven't seen him since that night, so it doesn't matter much either way."

"Then who was your New Year's kiss?" Mrs. Cleary asked dreamily, half her attention still taken by swarthy shirtless men.

"A girl named Lily," I said, bending my head back over my work. "Our third of the night, come to think of it."

"Oooh dear!" she exclaimed, finally focusing back on me with a smile. "You kids _are_ quite open-minded these days!"

I grinned and kept working, deciding not to explain that the first kiss came about as a result of my extreme euphoria at having been rid of a potentially life-ending parasite, the second when Lily was so pissed that she mistook me for James, and the third because she suddenly recalled her husband's abhorrent earlier behavior and decided it rendered him unworthy of a stroke-of-midnight kiss. Mrs. Cleary's imaginings would certainly be more scandalous and I didn't want to divest her of them.

The rest of the day passed as most days at the office did and I finished my work up some time around dinner as my stomach began growling at me with barely concealed menace. I often considered it its own master and I tried crooning reassurances at it to no avail. Late as I was though, I forced myself and my angry tummy to pass the lovely-smelling restaurants, (this Ministry broad better be damn grateful,) and turned on my heel, thinking of the site of my weekend mission; the residence of a Mrs. Shu, et al.

I'd been to the place 3 days prior to scout the best vantage points, weakest areas, and most likely points of attack, but now that it was dark the quaintly isolated stone country house stood ominously isolated, a dark gray smudge against a solid black background. The single streetlight that should have illuminated the dirt road and at least a bit of the front yard had been broken out, likely, (and hopefully,) by an Order member.

Several months ago, Dumbledore and Moody together had arranged an Order meeting to address the matter of general protective spells for dwellings, and every single one of them outside of the Fidelius, (rendered useless in this specific situation since Mrs. Shu's muggle husband ran his psychiatry practice out of their back office, qualifying the house as a public space and not eligible for the charm,) would be employed at Mrs. Shu's home.

Although the Ministry had all but cut ties with her, she'd proved invaluable to the Order, providing information on individuals within said Ministry who'd turned, others who'd been Imperiused, and those still loyal to the cause. She also had an unfortunate habit of not being able to shut her bloody yap to the Prophet, either about Voldemort and his lackeys or the Ministry's pathetic efforts to stop them, leaving her, (and us,) in the predicament in which we currently found ourselves.

I'd always considered myself a tough bird, a hardboiled take-no-nonsense Jane. And one who's clearly seen too many '20's gangster movies. The point is, I was confident that I could handle myself in most situations and with the (albeit abbreviated) training from Moody, the thought of my first venture into 'field work' as it were hadn't given me pause as I'd volunteered in the well-lit, cheery kitchen at Order headquarters. Now though, as I approached the darkened house, I could almost admit to a certain amount of trepidation.

A single glowing orange circle of light marked Mrs. Shu's current location on her front porch as she smoked a cigarette and held vigil over her front yard. I raised a hand to hail her, hoping she'd recognize me as friend before hexing my bollocks off. She tipped her head in acknowledgement and said nothing as I approached.

"All quiet on the western front?"

"Mmm," she hummed vaguely, one corner of her mouth pulling back into an odd sort of half-grimace, and continued in a low voice, "Maddox is around back." She took a long draft, the cherry glowing glaringly bright in the oppressive dark.

"You shouldn't do that," I said, gesturing to her fag. "One shoddy concealment charm and your position's given away."

She snorted humorlessly and squinted directly up at me at me for the first time, taking in everything from my outfit, (black from head to toe-can't be too careful) to the earnest expression I wore.

"How old are you?"

I sniffed and tensed, raising my chin a fraction. "I hardly think it matters. I'm fully-"

"It matters," she cut across me in a solemn voice that instantly silenced me, before turning her eyes back to the yard.

Despite the fact that I had obviously been dismissed, I regarded her for a moment longer before coming to the fairly obvious conclusion that I'd get no decent conversation tonight, (and no gratitude apparently-hmmph!) so I turned to make my way to my post, chosen and shown to me when I was last here by none other than Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody himself.

The first time I'd met the legendary Auror I'd been apprehensive to say the least. His reputation preceded him, and though most claimed he was fair enough, everyone to a man loudly and vociferously advised caution when dealing with him. "No funny business," an older man told me after the meeting in which Dumbledore had informed us that Moody would be, in essence, his second. "He'll take nothing from no one, and that means you too, missy, young as you are."

I had no response to this; mostly because I was stifling laughter at the way the man had turned his whole face to the side to regard me out of one alarmingly widened eye. That paired with his ruffling, thick white mustache and he was practically his own caricature. His words rang ominously in my head though when I was finally introduced to the non-funny-business-taker, and, predictably, I proceeded to make an ass of myself.

"Hello Mr. Moody. Hey, what has twelve arms, twelve legs, and twelve eyes? Twelve pirates!"

He said nothing, but his magical and normal eyes both stared at me directly and silently. Silently, obviously. I was pretty certain even the magical one couldn't speak.

"Newest recruit," he barked eventually.

It wasn't a question and I knew it; he was well aware of my identity as exhaustive background checks were performed on all of us before we were even approached about the Order of the Phoenix. I nodded exuberantly all the same, a smile plastered to my face and a trickle of sweat running between my shoulder blades.

"Shannon Duffy at your service, my liege," and god help me, I bent at the middle, one foot stuck jauntily in front of me, and _took a bow_ in front of him. Honestly, if I wasn't killed by the other side I was apparently trying to assure it'd be friendly fire.

After a beat or two in which I wasn't certain I wouldn't be struck down where I stood, (still bowed,) I peered back up into the mass of tangled scars and I was sure for at least a nanosecond, I saw what almost passed for a smile.

From that moment on, we were the best of friends. Saturday morning would find us cozied up together in the back of Florean Fortescue's shop, sharing the latest gossip and debating who was the hunkiest of all the hunks in the Auror ranks. Then we'd skip out the door, counting and chanting in Yiddish for some reason, and into the distance to make our dreams come true.

I might be embellishing, but I did often have fully fleshed-out daydreams of this sort quite often, (I was Laverne, obviously.) Apparently it must have given me a vacant sort of expression, because when I'd come out of one of these reveries, I'd often find Moody studying me with a certain amount of concern, likely for my sanity. Which is just fine, thanks for asking.

In fact I had to shake myself out of one of these daydreams while I was supposed to be patrolling Mrs. Shu's home. (This one had involved a hilarious incident where I spilled soup all over Moody in front of the bloke he fancied. Moody had been furious with me, sure that I'd ruined his chances, until his handsome suitor had proclaimed his love despite Moody's current soup-sodden state. Then we laughed, but more importantly, we learned a valuable lesson.)

It was a quiet night and nearing daybreak. Despite my valiant efforts at CONSTANT VIGILENCE, I was powerless to hold my own attention for more than 30 seconds. While I couldn't exactly say that I'd been hoping for some climactic shoot-em-up, I certainly hadn't anticipated the hours of boredom that came with patrol duty. Mrs. Shu had retired to get some sleep about halfway through the night, so I'd been left without even her disdainful presence. I met Maddox periodically as we moved about the property to scan for disturbances, but we said nothing, gesturing only with head nods to show that nothing had changed.

By the time my replacement arrived, I was ready to jump out of my skin. I'd been there for twelve hours without food or entertainment of any sort. Only my own thoughts for company, and I think we can all agree that's a terrifying notion, (see above.) So when a figure appeared in the front yard and called the correct password, I was ready to get the hell out of Dodge. Before I could bound off though, I recognized the friendly face of James Potter.

"We meet again," he said amiably.

"We do," I agreed. "Lily ever forgive you for that whole magic show thing?"

"Ha! She did the same gag at a bar we went to a couple of nights later. She'll complain, but she likes to make a spectacle of herself, that one."

I smiled, thinking of the time in third year when Lily had told off Potter and Black in a rather earsplitting screech for doing something disgusting to the juice pitcher. Maybe he was right.

"I guess opposites attract after all," I said mordantly. "I'll leave you to it." With a mumbled goodbye from James as he took up my previous position, I apparated to a blind alley next to my apartment building.

Climbing the steps of the familiar brownstone, I could feel the lack of sleep immediately creep upon me. I'd done a satisfactory job in staying awake through my patrol. I'd call it satisfactory anyway, I only fell asleep twice, and who are you to judge? Anyway, it was catching up with me now. I pictured my lumpy, pillow-covered twin bed and suddenly the three flights of stairs felt like an unbeatable mountain. I made it two more steps and then collapsed where I was. I reached for my wand and thought of pasta before a large, glistening white mare appeared and bounded off up the stairs. A second later, a return message in the form of a snowy badger. When it opened its mouth, it spoke in the voice of my roommate, Christian.

"No. You're an absolute cow and there's no way I could possibly carry you up three flights. Maybe if you hadn't eaten ALL the spaghetti Bolognese on Thursday night I could manage. But I'm sure you're much too fat now."

I groaned loudly, hoping he could hear me three flights above and realize how much PAIN I was in, and sent another message in his general direction. I didn't have long to wait.

"UGH," said the badger. "You're lucky that you have a strapping young gent for a roommate. This will most certainly count as my workout for the day."

Christian himself appeared at the nearest landing soon enough, (soon enough that I wasn't dead, that is. Sure felt like he took his time,) and I smiled blearily at him, holding my arms out so he could haul me the rest of the way.

He rolled his eyes at me. "Oh no, sister. I'm not doing all the work." He pulled one of my arms over his broad shoulders, (he really was a strapping young gent,) and heaved me to my feet with an EXTREMELY rude, "Lord! How much do you weigh?!" (8 stones, thank you very much. At that point, Christian started laughing so hard that he dropped me right onto my tailbone and couldn't help me up again for several minutes. I never figured out what was so funny.)

We managed the rest of the stairs with much grunting and groaning on both of our parts, and when Christian kicked open our door he dropped me unceremoniously into a heap on the carpet.

"I think I threw out my back," he gasped, bending over and heaving in breaths. "Seriously. I must have blown three or four disks. My lumbar's broken. Core, you have to start an exercise regime tomorrow, how can one person be so heavy?!"

"I…..resent…..that….." I said, completely not out of breath, and most decidedly not overly heavy at all. I decided to forgive his obvious error though, on account that he had actually helped me quite a lot, and two, now I was in my apartment. I lay flat on my back on the floor, regarding the ceiling and trying to decide whether sleep or food was calling louder at the moment. In the end, both won out and Christian stood over me, (having recovered somewhat, his back apparently not shattered,) and dropped chips into my open mouth until I fell asleep where I was.


End file.
